


Chiaroscuro

by arkady



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: DEAL WITH IT, Gen, I ship Nico and Octavian, M/M, Multi, why does nobody ship Nico and Octavian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arkady/pseuds/arkady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Octavian’s ghost somehow manages to be more annoying than in life, Nico hasn’t dealt with Tartarus as well as he thought, Will wasn’t the cure that he needed, and Percy…well.</p><p>Nico has gone missing, this time on a personal quest that almost nobody approves of. Octavian returns in a ghostly guise, tasked with helping lost demigods reach New Rome or Camp Half-Blood. Despite much reluctance on either side, son of Hades and descendant of Apollo join forces and embark on a quest in a mutual attempt to reverse what happened to them in the war with Gaia. </p><p>But there is no bringing the dead back to life, and Nico learns that sometimes you just have to move on with what you've salvaged. </p><p>PTSD Nico, Nico/Octavian, reminisces of Nico/Percy, and Solangelo as endgame, probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chairman Minion

**Author's Note:**

> Few things:  
> 1\. I always thought it was interesting how Octavian was described as a "watered-down" version of Will Solace.  
> 2\. I also hated how one-dimensional Octavian was as a character.  
> 3\. No way Nico got out of Tartarus without some severe form of PTSD. 
> 
> Here's the Octavian backstory and Nico/Octavian fic that nobody asked for but you're all going to get.

In Beijing, you can get a Minion dressed as Chairman Mao with your McDonald’s Happy Meal.

  
Beijing, Nico Di Angelo is convinced, is the future center of civilization. 

He fishes a fifty kuai note out of his pocket to pay for his burger and pork porridge combo. McDonald’s has done an amazing job, he thinks, of merging Chinese and American cuisine into one uni-flavor menu that tastes invariably of artificial umami.  

The cashier hands him his order. He pulls the dessert out of his bag and bites greedily into the brightly purple pastry. The ghosts can have the entree, but Nico’s a sucker for taro. 

It’s the sixth taro pastry he’s had in the week he’s been in Beijing. Will would say something about processed sugar if he were here, but Nico hasn’t spoken to Will in weeks. Or months.

Has it been months? 

“Talk to me when you’ve gotten this out of your system,” Will had said, right before hanging up. “Let me know when you’re ready to join the rest of us in reality.”  
Nico wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he had simply hung up. He hasn’t called Will back. 

Nico finishes off the dessert and crumples the cardboard wrapper in his palm. He pulls his coat tighter around his skinny frame and walks out into the bitingly cold air of Beijing in January. 

He drops the Minion in his pocket. 

He takes Line 2 into the north of the city, clutching the subway pole while passengers crowd in around him. He immediately regrets his decision not to walk. It’s rush hour; everyone and their mother is commuting home from work. In a city of millions, that means cramped subway cars. Nico finds it hard to breathe, and not just because the car is packed so tight that he could take a nap standing up.

He hates crowds. He’s never liked them, not since he was a kid and he had to clutch Bianca’s hand tightly everywhere they went because he was scared that if he let go he would be sucked into a timeless place again, a place of flashing lights and enticing games like the Lotus Casino and before he knows it seventy years will have passed and he won’t know where he is. 

It didn’t get better when he found out the truth about demigods, because then he saw monsters everywhere–anyone could be a monster in hiding; the fatigued university student leaning across from him, the sweaty laborer with his eyes shut against the plastic seats, the wizened old woman rooting around her purse for a Pocky stick or a dagger. 

And ever since Tartarus…

Nico’s eyes dart around the crowded car, looking instinctively for exit routes, but there are none, he’s trapped, he’s stuck in this tiny little box until they reach the next station and if anything happens he’ll have nowhere to go…he almost reaches for his sword, because having the blade in his hands will make him feel safer, but he’s cramped so tight against the other passengers that he can barely move his arm…

The subway screeches to a halt. 

Nico squeezes his way through the passengers, bursts off the train, and takes a deep breathe. This isn’t his stop. That’s okay. He’ll walk the rest of the way. 

He can’t wait to be out of Beijing, but he can’t leave until he finds what he’s looking for.

It’ll be here.

It has to be.  
  
~  
  
He passes a pay phone. On impulse, he steps inside.

  
He has the phone number at Camp Half-Blood memorized. If he asks, they’ll get Will on the line.

He hesitates. 

He calls his sister instead. 

She picks up on the second ring. 

“Where are you?” she demands. 

Nico is taken aback by how deep her voice has become. He keeps forgetting how much she’s grown. She’s not a girl anymore. She’s taller than him, now. Percy likes pointing this out. And Nico has to stand next to her and laugh like he doesn’t mind, takes the others’ ribbing with good humor, and try to pretend he’s not bothered by how much he’s reminded of Bianca. 

“Beijing,” he says.

Hazel is silent for a moment. “Am I allowed to ask why?”  

Nico squashes his guilt. Last time they spoke, he’d shouted at her for prying and slammed the phone on her. He would apologize, but it’s not the first time it’s happened and it won’t be the last.

“Came here a couple times when I was learning to shadow travel,” Nico says. “Wanted to see the place.”

“Nico.”

He swallows. “I think it’s here,” he says in a low voice. “I’m almost sure.” 

“Almost sure like you were in Pyongyang?”

“The proximity to Kim Jong Un threw me off.” 

“And Ulaanbaatar?” 

“Ulaanbaatar was a stretch,” he admits. “But I’m sure now. It’s here.”

Hazel sighs heavily. “It’s been three years, Nico.”

He clicks his teeth in frustration. “Hazel, I’m going to find it. I swear.” 

“I don’t care. Literally–I don’t care. Please come back,” Hazel says. “ Just please come back. It doesn’t matter.”

And Nico doesn’t know how to explain that it does matter, it matters more than anything in the world, so he just hangs up, the same way he hung up on Will.  
  
~  
  
It’s not easy to find a patch of open space in Beijing, and it’s well past dark when he’s finally alone in a spacious garden by the Lama Temple. He feels more than a little sacrilegious digging into the ground mere feet away from a giant golden Buddha, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

It’s a moonless night, and Nico can hardly see his own hands as he digs. He’s shrouded in shadow, enveloped in the darkness. He digs methodically, feeling the size of the hole with his sneakers. He moves rhythmically, mindlessly. It’s dark. He’s safe. 

He’s never been afraid of the dark like others were. No–to a son of Hades, darkness means safety, because darkness means shadows, and shadows mean a quick escape. It’s bright lights that he’s scared of. Bright lights, open spaces in midday. Because when everything’s visible, the monsters will find you, and you won’t be able to lose them. 

They’re everywhere. 

Three years. It’s been three years since Tartarus, since…

He can’t think about it. If he thinks about it the memories will flood together, all at once, and he’ll be curled into the corner again, gasping and sobbing, only this time Will won’t be there, Hazel won’t be there, no one will be there because he insisted on coming here, he insisted on doing this, and he has no one to blame for his self-imposed exile but himself. 

The trick is not to think. The trick is to just focus on the job at hand, focus on moving his arms, feel the cold bite of metal under his clenched fingers as he presses the blade into dirt. 

Finally the digging is done, and the real work can begin. 

The burgers are cold by now, but that will make no difference to the dead. 

“Let the dead drink,” he mumbles, pouring red-bean flavored soy milk into the ground. It’s not soda, but it’ll do. 

The ghosts take their time congregating around the fast food offering. Nico sits back on the grass, toying with Chairman Minion as he watches them eat. He peruses their faces, trying to pick out the features he’s looking for. He’s never called this ghost before, not since she died, and all he’s got to go off are photographs and blurry memories from when he was a kid.  

“Nico.” A voice speaks directly into his ear, chilly and tremulous. 

“Zeus!” Nico jumps and drops the Minion. Heart hammering, he scrabbles for his sword while his mind screams stupid, stupid, STUPID for being caught off guard. 

It’s not a monster.

It’s just a ghost. 

The slight form hovers hesitantly behind him, a little ways off from the feeding spirits, like a party guest who isn’t sure he’s invited. 

Which, come to think of it, is exactly what he is. 

“Wait.” Nico furrows his brow. “I know you.”

The ghost looks apprehensive, as if awaiting a verdict. His eyebrows furrow together, and his expression tightens, and that’s when Nico places the face to the name. 

“You’re that asshole from Rome!” 

“New Rome,” corrects Octavian, descendant of Apollo.  
  
~  
  
“You tried to kill us!” Nico shouts. “You tried to kill us multiple times!” 

“Water under the bridge?” the ghost of Octavian offers hopefully. 

“What?” 

“Let bygones be bygones?”

“No!” Nico’s hands make agitated fluttering motions in the air as he speaks, like he’s trying to ward off demon gnats. “I didn’t–you weren’t summoned! Begone! Get away!” 

“I need your help,” Octavian says quickly. “Please, I don’t have a lot of time–“

Time? Nico snorts. “You’re dead.” 

“So how much could it hurt to hear me out?” 

“A lot,” Nico snaps. “You’re hurting my ears right now.” 

“Nico. Please.” 

Octavian drops to his knees, then. 

Nico is so startled to see Octavian–self-righteous, disgustingly power-hungry Octavian–kneeling before him that he doesn’t banish the spirit immediately. 

Instead he settles back warily against his lawn, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “What do you want?”  

“There are two demigods in this city,” Octavian says quickly, before Nico can change his mind. “Young. Six and nine. Greeks. They’ll need help reaching Camp Half-Blood.” 

Yeah, they will, Nico thinks. Beijing is a far way from upstate New York. 

But this is a trap if Nico’s ever smelled one. Demigods in need? Friendly ghost? For all he knows, Octavian’s struck a deal with some monsters–the son of Hades in exchange for whatever it is that a ghost could want. 

“How would you know?” he asks suspiciously. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, burning in the pits of my father’s kingdom?” 

Octavian scowls. “When I died, your father assigned me to help guide demigods who hadn’t found their way to the camps. I’m a descendant of Apollo. I show up in their dreams. Warn them about monsters, show them where to go. Something about being the guide that I never was when I was alive.” Octavian pulls a face. “Your father’s all about poetic justice.”

Nico considers this. “Sounds like Dad.” 

Octavian looks agitated. “But these two–it’s been days, and I haven’t been able to reach these two. They’re attracting monsters like magnets, and they have no idea what they are. Someone’s got to find them.”  

This actually sounds plausible, so Nico has to think for a moment before pulling his next counter-argument. 

“Why can’t you just get a satyr?” 

“Have you seen Beijing pollution? You think there are satyrs around here? Please, Nico.” Octavian hasn’t budged from his kneeling position. “We’re the best chance they’ve got at staying alive.”

“Don’t say we,” Nico says quickly. 

In the corner of his eye he can see the spirits beginning to dissolve into the night air. They’ve gotten their free meal; even better if they don’t have to hang around for the interrogation. A few more seconds and they’re gone, leaving behind empty paper bags and the smell of high-fructose corn syrup. 

He’ll have to find her another time.

Part of him wants to banish Octavian right then. He doesn’t trust him, not even this wispy incorporeal version of him, because Octavian’s weapon was never his body but his words. Nico doesn’t need a ghost whispering in his ear.

He’s been under the influence of a ghost before. 

But if there’s even the smallest percent chance that Octavian is telling the truth, then somewhere in this sprawling city are two demigods, young and scared, without a clue of what’s happening to them. 

Nico has some idea what that’s like.

“Fine,” he says finally. “Fine. I’ll help you.”

Relief washes over Octavian’s face. 

“Thank you,” he says, and Nico almost believes he’s being genuine. 

He rises to his feet and shakes the cold numbness out of his legs. 

Looks like he’ll be in Beijing longer than he thought. 


	2. 1950

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More on how Nico ended up in Beijing, how Octavian feels about his death, and where precisely Will Solace is. 
> 
> Also featured: leather trench coats, and stalking Chinese high schools.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure Octavian would be the most annoying demigod guide ever, which is likely why Hades gave him the job.

  
In broad daylight, Nico is the only one who can see Octavian. To anyone else in Beijing, even those who can see through the Mist, Octavian is nothing more than a shimmery patch of light, an illusion that isn’t there when you look back the second time.

  
But to Nico, he’s just as clear and present as he was the previous night. He’s translucent of course, and pale, but then Octavian was pale even in life. 

He tries not to look too much at Octavian. Because even in his ghostly form, Octavian reminds him too much of Will. 

If Nico thinks about it, Octavian and Will are nothing alike. Will radiates warmth; Will always has that dopey smile on his face, that gentle grin that makes first year campers flock to him like sheep. Will has eyes that crinkle when he smiles; Will has gold lashes that glint in the sunlight. 

Octavian has none of Will’s natural charisma. Octavian is constantly wearing a surly expression, even in death. Octavian is like an ancient watercolor version of Will; faded and barely there. 

Gods, he misses Will so much. 

“So how’s it going?” Octavian ventures finally. 

“Are you trying to make small talk?” Nico asks in disbelief. “You’re not actually trying to make small talk.”

“I’m bored,” Octavian says defensively. 

“And I’m a grown man in a dark coat stalking an elementary school,” says Nico. “I’d rather not look like I’m talking to myself.” 

“Your fault for wearing that trench coat,” Octavian retorts. “What is this, 1950?”

“I like this coat,” Nico mumbles. 

And where he comes from, it _is_ 1950\. 

Octavian might be smiling. 

“So why are you here?” he asks after a pause.

“Here?”

“Beijing,” Octavian clarifies. “What are you looking for?”

“None of your business,” Nico says by reflex, because it’s the answer he’s used to giving. 

Octavian is unfazed. “If you tell me, I can help. Tit for tat. Quid pro quo. Consider it a thank you.”

“Octavian, I know this is going to come as a shock to you, but you are dead.” 

“So it won’t hurt to talk to me,” says Octavian. “Beijing’s a long way from New York, son of Hades. What’s dragged you out here? Why aren’t you back at camp?”

Nico glares fixedly at the school gates. 

“I can’t go back to camp,” he says.  
  
~  
  
The last time he saw Will was in Percy’s apartment.

  
Percy and Annabeth have a cramped one-bedroom in New Rome, which feels smaller than it is because of Annabeth’s clutter filling up the space. Annabeth, architecture major, owns so many textbooks and measuring equipment and architectural designs that the place overflows with her stuff. Percy is almost spartan in comparison. Nico usually finds it funny that Annabeth is the messier one of the two, but just then he couldn’t bear the sight of her things–a worn blue backpack in the corner, a baseball cap on top of the laundry heap. 

Annabeth had disappeared for the day, but surrounded by her possessions, Nico felt worse than if she were standing right in front of him. 

“It’s Will,” Percy said, buzzing him up even as Nico dove under his bed and yelled no, no, DON’T. 

Soon enough a knock sounded at the door. 

“Tell him I’m out,” Nico begged. 

Percy just gave him a look. He turned to open it, and Nico disappeared down the hallway. 

“Hey,” Will said.

“Hey.” Percy cleared his throat. 

Right about now was when there would be a warm exchange, maybe a hug, definitely a handshake, but under the current circumstances neither of them knew quite to do. 

Will looked around the apartment. 

“So, uh, where’s Annabeth?”

“She’s out.” Percy rubbed his elbow. “And he’s. Um. In the bedroom.” 

“Figured,” Will said neutrally. 

Will gestured awkwardly with his hand, just as Percy made to step aside, and they maneuvered around each other until Will was standing in front of the locked bedroom door.   
  
~

“What do they look like?” Nico asks, because if he’s going to entertain Octavian then they might as well talk about something useful.

To Nico’s amazement, Octavian shrugs. “No clue. Boy and a girl. Could be anyone.”

Nico fights the urge to curse out loud “You don’t _know?”_

“I wasn’t given a lot to go off of!” Octavian protests. “Look–I can’t just walk around this world like you can, alright? I only get to visit demigods in their dreams. If they’re vivid dreamers, I get more details. I get time to talk to them. But if they’re really young, or if they haven’t been dreaming at all, I don’t have a way in.”  
Octavian looks rueful. 

Nico realizes in retrospect that he might have been more sensitive. Ghosts, after all, are rarely happy to be reminded that they’re dead. But he also thinks that Octavian might have told him this before dragging them out to this high school. “So what the hell are we doing here?” 

“I’m fairly sure they go to school here.”

“Oh, like you were fairly sure your plan wouldn’t cause an Octavian-sized explosion in the sky?”

Ghosts shouldn’t be able to flush, but Nico definitely sees two spots of red in the air where Octavian’s cheeks are. 

“Low blow, Di Angelo.”

 _I know,_ Nico wants to say. 

There’s only one taboo when it comes to dealing with ghosts, and that’s to never poke fun at how they died. Even if they died in an amazingly stupid self-inflicted explosion like Octavian. Even if the world is probably better off now that they’re gone. 

As the son of Hades, Nico knows better than most not to disrespect the dead. 

And yet.

Nico realizes, in the abstract, that he has a problem. He doesn’t seem to have a filter these days. He hasn’t had a filter for years. Nico says the first thing that comes to mind, hurtful as that may be, and only belatedly considers the consequences. 

“Stop being such a prick,” Thalia snapped once, when they were all crashing at Hazel’s, and Nico made a comment about Luke that made Annabeth turn pale. He doesn’t remember precisely what made him say it, only that he was drunk and irritable and missing Bianca, and hearing Thalia and Annabeth reminisce about Luke like he was some hero had just set him off. 

Nico lost his temper then, and Thalia grabbed her shield and asked _You wanna go, son of Hades?_ and Nico reached for his sword, and then Jason was between them saying _walk it off, guys, come on,_ and no one has brought it up since.  

It’s eerie, actually, how nobody brings it up. 

Nico thinks that Jason spoke to the others that night, but he’ll never know what was said, because when he woke up the next morning, everyone was all artificial cheer and overstated forgiveness. Now, whenever Nico says something acerbic, whenever he’s being intentionally cruel, he’s only ever met with a resigned look and mutters. 

The only person who comments on it now is Will. Will never loses his temper, but Will does passive aggressiveness better than the cattiest suburban housewife, and Nico remembers acutely the pang he felt in his chest when Will commented softly that maybe, just maybe, he might consider not being such an asshole all the time.   
  
~  
  
“I’m not mad,” Will said softly on the other side of the door. 

And inside Percy’s room, Nico was crouched like a teenage girl, greatly regretting missing the chance not to escape out the window when he had the chance.

“I just want to talk,” said Will. “I’m sorry.” 

And he sounded so gentle, and so understanding, that Nico wanted to hit something–it’s not fair, Will of all people should not be the one apologizing, Will was not the one who has just cheated on his boyfriend, Will was certainly not to blame–

And that was the problem, really. 

Will was innocent. Will was so innocent and blameless that it drove Nico mad. 

Because Will just wanted to heal him, and Nico didn’t want to be healed; Nico didn’t want naps in the sunlight and lazy kisses in strawberry fields. Nico wants blood.

Nico wanted an outlet for the adrenaline coursing through his blood, that fight or flight reaction that never quite went away after Tartarus; Nico needed a visible enemy that he cacouldn fight, because the imagined enemies were so much worse. 

Nico couldn’t stand still, he couldn’t let himself be healed, he couldn’t be passive, because if he tried he would go insane. 

Nico needed to hurt someone, and it couldn’t be Will anymore.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Will,” he said flatly to the door. 

“I don’t understand what this is about,” Will said. “Look–will you just open this? Will you talk to me? Please?” 

Nico was sick of talking. 

Nico wanted a sword in his hands, and an enemy to kill, and the reassurance that this is not Tartarus, he is not helpless, he is not trapped in a jar; he has a weapon and he can fight back and they can’t get at him… 

In hindsight, he realized that this is why he went to Percy. 

Because Percy, of all people, knew what Nico was going through. Percy had been through Tartarus. Percy _remembered._

Nico would be lying if he said it didn't have anything to do with his old crush on Percy. Old crushes never really go away, despite how many times Nico has insisted since then that Percy isn't his type, and sometimes when he's kissing Will he closes his eyes and for a moment he sees black hair and sea-green eyes. 

But he had really only wanted to talk, when he’d shown up at the door, drenched to the bone and miserable and sobbing with fear. 

He hadn’t banked on the rest.   
  
~  
  
“It can’t be too hard to find them,” Octavian says, deftly changing the subject. 

Nico snorts. “Right, because demigods who don’t know they’re demigods walk around with giant neon signs over their heads. I don’t have a demigod radar, Octavian.”

“No, but you and I are pretty good at sensing monsters,” Octavian points out. “And they have demigod radars.”

Nico is amazed. “Your plan was to wait for monsters to attack? Seriously? This was the plan you interrupted my seance for?”

He checks his watch. School is out in ten minutes. Soon this playground will be flooded with Chinese elementary school students wearing identical polyester uniforms, and best case scenario he isn’t dragged away by campus police for staring at the children. 

Worst case scenario, a monster shows up. 

“I think we’ve established that foresight was never my strong suit,” Octavian says lightly. 

“I don’t know how you ever became an augur,” Nico mutters. 

Octavian grimaces. 

They watch the school in silence for a moment. Nico doesn’t know what they’re still doing here, because frankly he doesn’t know what he’s going to do when the bell is out, but he doesn’t have a better plan than Octavian’s. 

“So why Beijing?” Octavian circles around to his original question, relentless. “What are you searching for?”

“I told you, it’s none of your business.” 

“Did Percy send you?” Octavian persists. 

“This is my own quest.” Nico’s face tightens. “And Percy’s not at Camp Half-Blood anymore.”

“Right.” Octavian’s expression is inscrutable. “He’ll be in college by now. It’s been years. I’d forgotten.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nico is surprised. “How would you forget that it’s been three years?” 

“Time passes differently when you’re dead,” Octavian says. “You lose track of what’s going on the real world. Everything else sort of blurs together. When you have all of eternity in front of you, a few years doesn’t seem like such a big deal.” 

He sounds bitter. He sounds wistful. 

And Nico realizes that maybe, just because Octavian has been given a ghostly duty doesn’t make it any easier to be deceased.

He wonders what it’s like to be Octavian, to be assigned with an eternal duty as a constant reminder of what he couldn’t accomplish in life, and he wonders if it would have been more merciful for his father to just let Octavian suffer in the pits after all. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but then the bell rings and the courtyard is suddenly flooded with children.


End file.
